All You Need is Love

by Carole Matthews

  Grabbing my overnight bag, I rush out of the bedroom, clatter down the stairs and dash out to the stables.

  Spencer and his pals are all laughing breathlessly when they ride into the stables. I’m standing there clutching my bag. My lover slips down from his horse, handing the reins to a waiting groom.

  His face is flushed from exertion, his hair tousled. He has an air of the Mr Darcy about him and my heart – worried as it is – flips when I see him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he says, as he eyes my bag.

  ‘It’s Charlie,’ I tell him. ‘I have to go home. I have to go home now.’

  ‘Is he hurt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ill then?’

  ‘No, no. He’s upset. He’s missing me. And there’s been an incident. A break-in at Johnny’s garage.’

  Spencer leads me away from the group. ‘But why do you have to go?’

  ‘They need me.’

  ‘I need you too,’ Spencer says, stroking my arm.

  ‘I can’t be here,’ I say. ‘Not now.’ Probably not ever. ‘If you can take me to the nearest train station?’

  ‘Sally,’ he says with a sigh, ‘I’ll take you wherever you want to go – you know that. But I’d ask you to reconsider. The rest of my friends are coming this evening. I have a lovely picnic and dinner organised. You’ll love it. We can leave straight after breakfast tomorrow and we’ll be back by lunchtime. Won’t Charlie be all right until then?’

  ‘I can’t stay,’ I say. Now that I’ve made my mind up, I just want out of here. ‘It’s no good trying to persuade me.’

  Spencer’s shoulders sag. ‘I’ll drive you back.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve got a houseful of guests to entertain. I can’t drag you away.’

  ‘I want to be with you, Ms Freeman. Don’t you understand that?’

  ‘I’ll get a train. Really. I’ll be fine.’ There’s a slight bit of bravado going on here, because I don’t actually have the money to pay for a train fare. If Spencer agrees to drop me off, then he’s going to have to give me a loan too.

  ‘Let me at least get one of the staff to take you home,’ he says with a resigned look. ‘If you go by train you’ll have to change in London. It’ll take you hours. I’ll sort you out with a driver. That’ll be much quicker.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I’m on the verge of tears.

  ‘I still wish you’d change your mind,’ Spencer says. ‘This isn’t because I left you alone this morning? I would hate to have upset you.’

  If he carries on being kind then I will cry. ‘No, no,’ I reassure him. ‘I should never have left Charlie alone. This is too soon for him.’

  He wraps his arms around me. ‘This is my fault for being selfish.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m being a wimp, but I have to get back to my son.’

  ‘I wish you’d let me come with you.’

  ‘Please stay and entertain your friends. That would make me feel better.’

  He kisses me. ‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be back in the evening, but I’ll come round to see you. Is that okay?’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘Sally,’ Spencer says softly. ‘You have loved Alderstone, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s been wonderful,’ I lie. All I want to do is get out of here now. As fast as I can.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Charlie was talking to Kyle. He was still feeling all girly and cry-babyish, but he was trying not to let his eyes leak all over the place in front of his friend.

  They were sitting on a wall at the edge of the estate. A view of the whole of Liverpool was in front of them. If Charlie tried really hard and screwed up his eyes a bit, he was sure that he could see the Albert Dock and where they’d taken Johnny’s paintings to the Tate Liverpool Gallery.

  He passed the now obligatory cigarette back to his friend. ‘We could be in big trouble.’

  ‘Nah,’ Kyle said, but Charlie thought that he didn’t sound very sure.

  ‘What if the police find out that it was us?’

  ‘We didn’t smash up the paintings,’ Kyle pointed out. ‘We just borrowed a couple. For Johnny’s own good.’

  ‘But it was our fault that the baddies got into Johnny’s garage,’ Charlie reminded Kyle. ‘We could be blamed.’ He felt like crying again. ‘I only wanted to help Johnny.’

  ‘I knew it was a bad idea,’ his friend said.

  Charlie tried to think. Hadn’t it all been Kyle’s idea in the first place? He felt so mixed up that now he wasn’t sure at all. ‘We could go to prison.’

  Kyle shook his head. ‘You don’t go to prison for that kind of stuff,’ he said confidently. ‘You have to do really bad stuff before they lock you up now. Murder and . . . and . . . that kind of thing.’

  That was a relief. Charlie didn’t want to go to prison. They probably wouldn’t let you have Coco Pops for breakfast there. Still, it was a worry. ‘What will happen to us if they do find out?’

  His friend’s eyes brightened with excitement. ‘We’ll probably get an ASBO.’

  That sounded dreadful. ‘What’s an ASBO?’

  Kyle thought for a minute. ‘It’s an Anti-Social Boys Organisation.’

  ‘And we’d have to join it?’

  ‘It’d be great,’ Kyle assured him. ‘It makes you look big. Everyone’s got one these days.’

  ‘I don’t think my mum would like it.’ In fact, he was pretty sure that she’d kill him. ‘What would your mum say?’

  ‘She wouldn’t mind as long as it didn’t mean I had to stay in the house more.’

  ‘Huh.’ Charlie took his turn with the ciggie. Kyle’s mum seemed different from his own mum. She didn’t seem to mind what Kyle did. He could stay out really late and not get told off. He could eat what he wanted whenever he wanted. Sometimes he had ice cream for breakfast and she didn’t say a thing! That must be great. ‘My mum’s on her way home. She’s gone somewhere posh with that fella for the weekend.’

  ‘That was so he wouldn’t tell on us,’ Kyle reminded him.

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Charlie had forgotten all about that.

  ‘Did that bloke from the gallery ever ring you about the paintings?’

  ‘Nah,’ Charlie said. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t want to buy them after all.’

  ‘You think he’d phone,’ Kyle tutted. ‘You can’t rely on grownups these days.’

  Charlie hoped that Spencer was reliable and remembered not to tell tales about them to his mum. The boy had missed her this weekend. His mum might tell him off a lot, but he liked it better when she was there.

  The cigarette was finished and he stubbed it out on the wall. Sometimes he didn’t think that he really liked smoking at all. It made his mouth taste funny. He jumped down. ‘I’d better be getting back,’ he said. ‘Johnny’ll be worried about me.’

  ‘Everyone worries about you,’ Kyle said, and there was something in his voice that Charlie didn’t understand.

  Kyle was right though. His mum would be worried too. He didn’t cry very often and Charlie knew that she didn’t like it when he did. He’d be glad when she was home again. The only bad thing about his mum coming back was that she’d know. She’d just know. She was a lot like Kyle really. Somehow, some way, she knew everything.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  The journey home seems to take forever. I’m sure Surrey wasn’t this far when we were going. One of Spencer’s staff, Eddie, drives me all the way back without stopping. We don’t speak much as we speed along the motorways and I sit in the back of the huge, posh car feeling self-conscious.

  Eventually, hours later, he pulls up outside Bill Shankly House, his face inscrutable.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Thanks so much.’ I don’t know what to do now. Do I tip him, invite him in? The poor man’s going to have to turn round and drive straight back – all that way. ‘Do you want a coffee or something?’

  Eddie casts a glance over the flats. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘Better be goi
ng.’ Bet he can’t wait to get out of here in his shiny motor. Well, let me tell you, if he comes back here in a few months’ time he won’t recognise the place.

  ‘Thanks again.’ I drag my bag behind me as I get out of the car and then trudge the ten flights up to my home. Now, of course, I’m thinking that I shouldn’t have been in quite so much of a rush to leave Alderstone House and Spencer behind.

  But when I stick my key in the lock, I hear Charlie shout out, ‘It’s Mum!’ and the next minute he barrels into me, nearly knocking me flying. It’s like having my very own Andrex puppy in human form.

  He grips me in a bear hug as if he’s never going to let me go.

  ‘Did you miss me?’ I ask.

  I feel my son’s head nod against my chest. I kiss his hair, enjoying the smell of it despite the pound of gel that’s in it. When I look up, Johnny’s standing in the hall looking bashful. Even though we’ve split up I still get a rush when I see him. That’s got to be odd, right?

  ‘Good journey back?’ he says.

  ‘Okay,’ I answer. ‘One of Spencer’s staff drove me.’

  I see him flinch slightly at that. ‘Spencer has staff?’

  Turning Charlie round, I push him gently towards the kitchen. ‘Go and make your old mum a cup of tea.’ He clicks his fingers at Ringo, who trots after him, and then my son goes and does as he’s told without argument. Definitely something wrong with him.

  Johnny and I go through to the living room. ‘Remember that old telly series Brideshead Revisited?’

  ‘Yeah. Just about.’

  ‘That’s Spencer’s life,’ I tell him.

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Wow indeed,’ I agree. ‘His house is a stately home and his mates are all Hooray Henrys.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So what’s he doing round here?’

  ‘Seems like Daddy wants him to experience the real world before taking over the running of the family estate.’

  ‘Kirberly’s certainly the real world,’ Johnny muses. ‘I’m sorry that you had to come back to it.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I reassure him. ‘Not really.’ How can I begin to explain to Johnny how like a fish out of water I felt in Spencer’s world? How can I tell him that I couldn’t wait to get back to Charlie, to him, to Mrs Kapur, even the mad, sad Dora the Explorer – people who love me. How can I tell him how much Spencer’s father dissed me and thought I was some sink-estate gold digger?

  While I’m contemplating all of this, Johnny says, ‘Charlie’s been inconsolable. I don’t know why.’ He gives his head a bemused shake. ‘It’s not like him.’

  ‘Particularly when it was his idea to spend the weekend with you.’ I sigh and flop down on the sofa. ‘Maybe your assessment was right. Maybe he’s just missing me more than he thought he would. I’m not going to go away on any more so-called “glamorous” weekends.’ It doesn’t matter how wonderful or exotic your surroundings are, if the people with you aren’t very nice. ‘I don’t want to do anything that’s going to mess up my kid.’

  Johnny sits down next to me. I get the urge to curl up into his arms, but resist it. I’m feeling weak and vulnerable. It would be a Bad Thing.

  ‘Sorry to hear about the garage.’

  My friend sighs wearily. ‘I might give up the painting as a bad job. I’m just wasting time with it when I could be doing something more constructive.’

  Heaven knows that I’ve told Johnny this often enough, but now I’ve changed my mind. He’s good and he deserves to follow his dream – as we all do. ‘Don’t do that,’ I urge. ‘Stick at it.’

  He looks unconvinced.

  ‘For me,’ I say.

  He laughs. ‘You know that I’d still do anything for you, you silly woman.’ With that, he gives me a peck on the cheek. ‘I’d better be going.’

  ‘We should get all the stuff through to start the project by next weekend.’ My own estate might not be quite like Spencer’s, but my weekend away has made me even more determined to do something to stop the rot.

  ‘I’ve put leaflets through everyone’s door to ask them to be at the Community Centre for nine o’clock,’ I go on.

  ‘Optimistic.’

  ‘That’s me,’ I say. ‘You know, Johnny, I don’t think I could do this without you.’

  My ex stands, ready to leave. ‘We’ll make a formidable team.’

  ‘We will.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it,’ he says.

  I kiss Johnny on the cheek. ‘So am I.’

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  On Saturday morning just before nine o’clock a huge lorry arrives from the nearby DIY superstore. It’s laden down with goodies, all paid for by our Government grant.

  There’s a good crowd of people here to greet its arrival. A cheer goes up when the lorry parks outside the Community Centre, leaving the driver looking very bemused. I record the moment for posterity on my mobile phone camera. Okay, so I might not bear comparison to ace photographer Annie Leibovitz, but I’d like to put a scrapbook together after we’re all done. A sort of before and after. Proof that if I never, ever again achieve anything else in my life, that at least I once made a difference to something.

  It’s a beautiful morning. The sun’s out already, the air’s cool and crisp, which means that it’s not yet too hot for grafting. Johnny’s painted a banner on some plywood, which he’s attached above the door of the Community Centre. ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE is what it says. Actually, it seems we need a lot more than that, judging by the amount of stuff that’s being delivered.

  My friends are out in force. Even Debs, looking ever so slightly hungover, has made it here on time. Mrs Kapur in her usual sari in delicate fabric has found some pink flowery wellingtons from somewhere that swamp her tiny frame and a big floppy hat with a daisy on it. She’s clutching a paintbrush and looks ready for action. Dora the Explorer’s in her second-best nightie and is well away singing ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ and twirling herself round and round. Ringo’s accompanying her by barking in circles, trying to chase his own tail. Dora sings louder. Clearly the excitement has got to her. All she looks ready for is the nut house, bless her.

  ‘Dora,’ I say. ‘Mind the lorry.’ And I herd her back onto the pavement where she continues to waltz with herself. Don’t want to start the morning with one of the residents squashed. ‘Charlie! Keep your eye on Dora for me.’

  Charlie nods back to me. His friend Kyle is in tow, as always, and they’re both looking a bit too keen to be helpful – which, in turn, is making me a bit suspicious. Would love to know what those two have been up to. Charlie’s been clinging to my legs all week since I came back from Spencer’s place.

  Speaking of which – my lover is here too. Things have been a little cool between us this week, it has to be said. I still can’t get over how mean his father was to me and I know that’s not Spencer’s fault, but . . . Well, it hurt, nevertheless. Just as it was intended to.

  Spencer slips his arm round my waist. He’s been a bit distant all week too and I wonder whether he’s having second thoughts about ditching Arabella or Phoebe or Tania – all women who are eminently more suitable as the future Mrs Spencer Knight and mistress of Alderstone House than I would ever be. The knowledge of that fact doesn’t make me feel any happier.

  ‘Nervous?’ Spencer asks.

  ‘Yeah.’ Perhaps not surprisingly, I am. There’s a buzz of excited tension in the air and, somehow, I feel that I’m responsible for it. There is, I know, a lot of expectation resting on my slender shoulders. Am I woman enough for the job?

  As if reading my thoughts, Spencer says, ‘You’ll be fabulous.’

  The old guys from the allotments – Ted, Brian and Jim – have turned up too. More surprising, the three hoodies are here, although they’re lurking on the fringes looking furtive and uncomfortable. We did communicate long enough for them to give me their names – Jason, Daniel and Mark – and I’m hoping that my faith in them isn’t misplaced. I�
�ll get them kitted out with some spades or paintbrushes and set them to work right away before they’ve a chance to think better of it and scarper. Or, even worse, scarper with the spades or paintbrushes.

  If the hoodies turning up was a complete surprise, I’m even more stunned to see that Kyle’s mum, Janice, and his stepdad, Paul, have bowled up too. I’m not one to gossip, but I’d be amazed if they’re normally out of bed at this time on a Saturday morning. You wouldn’t have ‘gardening’ down on a list of interests for either of them. Janice looks slightly out of place in her white crops and stilettos, but she’s got a new pair of gardening gloves in her hand, so she’s clearly intending to work. I just hope that doing something together as a family for their own estate helps them to become closer. Then I look at Kyle’s stepdad, who looks as if he wishes he was in the bookies instead, and I think maybe that’s hoping for just a bit too much.

  While I survey our motley crew of helpers, Johnny’s busy signing the paperwork. Once that’s done, then we all start to unload our goods from the back of the truck. I’d hoped that his mum would come out today, but Johnny said that Mary’s not feeling too good. Maybe we can persuade her to join us later. There must be a little job that she can do to make her feel a part of this.

  On the lorry, there are tools too numerous to mention, a case of filler, a dozen different shades of paint, a colourful splash of plants, bags of compost and a box full of bits and bobs like sandpaper, white spirit and disposable gloves. I ordered all this over the internet and that in itself feels like no mean feat. I’ve also drawn up an Excel spreadsheet for both managing the project and keeping a grip on the budget. All this from a woman who hadn’t even seen a computer a few weeks ago.

  I give Spencer a squeeze. Without this man I wouldn’t have had the courage or the vision or the wherewithal to even begin to tackle this.